


The Wasteland Elysium

by JinxxTheInsomniac



Category: District 9 (2009), Elysium (2013)
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Not really sure where I'm going with this one..., Post-Apocalypse, Stockholm Syndrome, slight AU, will add more tags later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-03-13 00:35:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13558920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JinxxTheInsomniac/pseuds/JinxxTheInsomniac
Summary: It is the year 2164;Elysium's Capitalism still reigns supreme over those they've deemed "unworthy" of their resources.After a mission led by Jasce Foster (a smuggler contracted by the Mob Lord 'Spider'), was ultimately failed by Elysium's newly unveiled weaponry, Margaret Foster, Jasce's only daughter, is left orphaned.Known as Magpie by the rare number of locals who'd managed to earn her favor, she lives a rather unassuming life; alone and having accepted the fact that her father, someone who had barely assisted in her upbringing, had been brutally executed as a result of his own headstrong idiocy.It's not like any real relationship had formed during the infrequent drop-ins which Jasce would indulge whenever he was in need of funds or a bed to sleep in, so Magpie was quick to move on from the grim tragedy that had become of her father's legacy.  Unfortunately, it wasn't long before the ramifications of her untethered father's actions were unceremoniously placed on her shoulders, as well as the hefty bounty he'd accumulated throughout his adult years.Now, she is being hunted by Elysium's finest Bounty Hunters, and no one has ever managed to evade them for more than a week...





	1. Introduction

She wasn’t tall by any means, but nor was she short in her toned stature. Her eyes were red from exhaustion and the foul poison fermenting the air.  With her hair shaved down to the scalp and a plethora of runic tattoos boasting her prowess and resilience along her neck and up the sides of her head,  there was no telling what she’d seen in her short lifetime.

Her face wore a seemingly permanent scowl as she slouched against the back on her seat, venom coating her tone while she spoke to the would-be leader running the underground transports.  She couldn’t have been much older than 21… perhaps even 20.

“I need protection and funds, and I’m willing to work for them. What say you?” her inquiry wasn’t so much a question as it was a demand for a quick response.  Truly interesting.

The bulbous mob leader, Spider, ran a palm through his greasy corkscrew locks as he gave a long sigh, as though he were debating a response.  It was the oldest trick in the book; exaggerate the lengths at which an individual would have to go through, and the conditions would be steeper.

He was a miserable liar while in communication with his prospective clients.

“Miss, I don’t know how someone of your… standing…  Could benefit me and my employees… they won’t treat you nice if you fail.” He replied in a tone that dripped with a fabricated sense of compassion. The woman before him wrinkled her nose at his response before sitting back against the groaning metal chair she’d been unceremoniously offered. Out of the corner of her eye, she admired the plethora of screens which displayed the surveillance of a number of thugs out on various missions.

With a shrug of her bare, muscled shoulder, she thrust a palm into her baggy slacks which were riddled with a thousand holes and stains.  With a grandiose heave, she dropped a burlap sack which was nearly full to bursting from its contents.

Spider eyed the peculiar offering before his calloused fingers greedily tugged at the knotted opening. Out spilled at least $800 in antique coins and gold chains, all of which held the potential to increase in value if he were to exchange the dainty trinkets with the right people. Funds like this were unheard of in this day and age. Where had this girl learned such talents?

“What is this?” Spider inquired as he struggled to retain some manner of professionalism.  

“Collateral. There’s more where that came from if you hire me.” She said calmly, as though this were no more than a trivial debate over afternoon tea.

Spider scrutinized the unremarkable girl sitting across from him, his gaze lingering on the dog chain dangling from her throat. It took only a moment to recall the last time he’d seen the tarnished talisman, and that only brought a sense of dubious concern. After all, the wearer of that particular name was dangerous due to the notoriety its owner had before his unexpected passing. 

He’d never mentioned having a child.

“Where’d you get the necklace? Didn’t steal that too, didja?” His fingers still toyed with the pile of treasure, causing a metallic slicing noise to resound every now and then when the coins shifted.

At last, the girl was silent, the distracted look in her eyes portraying the obvious consideration she was plotting while her potential new boss admired her as a landowner would a plot of earth.

“Jasce Foster was a former member of your… merry troupe… and he died serving you. Therefore, I think it would be in your best interest to now hire his orphaned child for the losses she’s suffered.”

So it _was_ true. Now things had gotten interesting. The bounty on her head was bigger than most of the convicts lingering under Spider's command as the woman before him carried a great deal of inherited information from her father prior to his unexpected death—information that obviously caused the members of Elysium a great deal of discomfort at the knowledge of her existence. She was a walking target, and that alone made her all the more dangerous. Like father, like daughter, Spider mused.

“He never mentioned having children. Never claimed to have a girlfriend, either.”

The petty response caused hurt and shame to emerge on the young girl’s face, but she made no comment.  He was only testing her resilience.

Unperturbed by invisible time restraints, she rose, tossing her oversized trench coat over a shoulder as her other palm set about replacing the funds having escaped the unassuming bag. “In that case, I think I will be on my way, then. Thank you for your time.” A forced smile creased her sharp features as she replaced the bag of coins having been presented. Fuck, she knew how to play Spider to his exact key. Greed was a significant element of his daily functioning, and to watch the money now being recanted, a stinging pain lanced through his heart.

“Now, just wait a minute.” He retorted, rising from his swivel chair with a deep grunt. The girl took a moment to turn back around to face her new employer, a wide smile on her dark-painted lips.

“Yes?”

“Jasce was a good worker. You have a lot to live up to if you’re gonna last down here.”

“I’m glad you see the upside of this meeting.” She sighed as if she’d known that she would end up getting Spider wrapped around her pinkie. Truly, she thought it would’ve been harder given his reputation on the unkempt streets.

“One last thing before ye go, miss Foster...” Spider murmured as she proceeded towards the gaping entryway that would lead into the barracks of the thieves and mercenaries. “Your surname carries a lot of weight among our enemies for obvious reasons. Do you have another name we can call ye?”

The woman looked over her shoulder towards the disheveled leader.  “Magpie.”


	2. Magpie

6 Months Later

 

Her heart roared in her ears as the adrenaline coursed through and fueled her relentless pursuit. This particular low-life had been a target for weeks after having decided to report to the wrong crowds about Spider’s whereabouts.  Out of all the eligible rogues capable of tormenting this pitiful excuse for a man, Spider wasted no time in choosing the latest addition to the network of mercenaries and rebels to deal out this traitor's just reward.

'… just don't kill him. That'll trigger a revolt against me and, frankly, I can't afford that given everything else going wrong this month.' A disgruntled cough followed by the abrupt kick of a wiry metal panel elicited a ravenous hiss of sparks and zaps to answer the abuse.   Magpie was on the case before he’d righted the intricate piece of machinery once more.

With her favorite knives sheathed tightly around her hips, she continued to run, dodging the hundreds of thousands of civilians and wagons littering the roadways.  A brown cloth veiled her face from being identified by the drones overhead, but it wasn’t long before she heard their surely wails behind her. 

A few other of Spider's mercenaries had joined her in hot pursuit, so there was no doubt in Magpie’s mind that they would eventually catch the traitor and give him reason never to snitch again.  In the meantime, she had to dissuade the security drones now looming just over her section of the sprawling roadway.

                Without a moment to waste, Magpie jumped into a dark alleyway which was shaded by the ancient, sagging rooftops on either side.  With any luck, the drones wouldn’t have enough space to continue their pursuit, but that also meant that Magpie probably needed to wait until they’d given up before she tried her luck outside again. No doubt they’d already gotten a good look at her physique, which means there would be pictures beamed all across the Western regions in search of her.  With a yank of the leather having concealed her more noticeable features, Magpie spat into the ground, a renewed sense of hatred for the man known as Jasce Foster.

                “Why’d you have to get on their radar?” She growled to no one in particular.  Her silver gaze caught sight of The Elysium just barely standing out against the cerulean sky.  Against all odds, she knew that there were about a hundred men and women just like those she saw every day, enjoying the bright afternoon sun without a care in the world.  The denizens of Elysium were not like Magpie and the rest of Earth’s pathetic waste.  Somehow those silver men and women were… special… though there was no way to figure out why or how since they never left their great, big, wiry refuge.

                Unlike most others trapped on Earth without any way to gain access to the mythical spaceship above, Magpie didn’t see the point in all of it.  Sure, you could live a little while longer, and you didn’t get your yearly cold, but where was the fun in living without such common anomalies to keep the wayless victims on their toes? 

                Magpie did not want to live forever; forever was far too much of a commitment. 

                After a little while, during which the young 20-something had managed to pick all the gunk and tarnish off her twin knives successfully without nicking herself, the humming of the drones idly dissipated with the indistinct rambling of the crowds outside.

                With a muffled grunt, she rose from the ground and proceeded to retrace her steps back towards the mouth of the alley.  A defiant beeping abruptly intercepting her thoughts.  It was her commlink activating.

                Upon rolling her sleeve up to reveal the bulky wristwatch, she squinted to read the minuscule lettering which slowly emerged on the dim screen.  

‘ **GOTTA SPEAK TO YOU, IF YOURE DONE THE JOB GET BACK HERE** ’

                Oh, the prices to be paid when one refuses to sign up for Spider’s exoskeleton implants...

Magpie wasted no time in pressing the hidden button which would confirm to Spider that his message had been received and would soon be acted upon.   

  But honestly, not a single day went by where her fellow rogues which all worked under Spider's watchful glare, would mock her for her 'traditional' views of robotic exoskeletons.  It pissed her off more than anything else.  Was it so wrong to want to remain 100% human?  The moral answer would unquestionably be yes, but due to the fact that a majority of Spider’s enemies were not only getting injected with resilience-increasing steroids, but also a robotic exterior to match the chemically enhanced strength, the answer usually was a no.  

                Peering out from the decrepit alleyway, Magpie scampered off towards where she knew would be a way into Spider’s hovel; completely unaware that she was being followed...  Not by a drone, mind you; but a man of flesh and blood. 

 


	3. From The Ashes of Indifference

Spider beheld her with an uncomfortable leer, as though trying to recall the memorized cues of a long-forgotten script.  Around him a handful of bustling nobodies were poking away at the endless array of wires and cables lining every inch of the room, occasionally earning a loud hiss followed by a shower of sparks which lit up the room.  Everyone, especially Magpie, looked tired and hungry, but no one spoke up about the matter.

Sweat gleamed from Magpie’s forehead as she scrutinized the unremarkable assembly.

“You called me here… what’s wrong?” She declared as she straddled an empty chair and rested her arms on it’s back. Spider was silent, his eyes flitting between her and his fingers which twiddled excessively where he supposed she couldn’t see (she could).

“There’s no easy way to say this, sweetheart…” Spider began, his voice evidentially attempting to portray some semblance of empathy, but failing miserably at it. With a sigh he leaned forward, propping himself up by his elbows like a principal about to address a troublesome student.  Magpie remained stoic, awaiting what it was that had distressed her boss enough that he felt the need to interrupt her mission.

“Look, Mags, you’re a good worker- a hard worker-…  You put these morons to shame.  But…--”

“’But’ what?” she demanded stiffly, fearing the unknown of what Spider was trying to tell her. Somehow, she felt she already knew.

“You’re being hunted by Elysium's finest, kid, and it’s getting to the point that if you were to be found and traced back here, it could put our entire system in jeopardy.  If you stay here and off of missions, frankly… you wouldn’t be earning enough for us to keep ya... Y'see where I’m coming from?”

A knot began to form in the back of her throat as Magpie absorbed the news.  Though she could feel the rage brewing to a boiling point deep inside her, her features remained nonchalant, as though the news didn’t mean anything to her.  She was a soldier, after all.

“So, after so many months of service for you, _sir_.” She snapped hatefully.  “You greedy sonsofbitches won’t even extend a charitable offering of sanctuary? Is that what you’re telling me?”  

“We’ll spare you what we can of our resources so you can settle and maybe even hitch a ride onto Elysium if you're feeling lucky.”

His struggle to lessen the blow of his prior statements only served to piss her off further.

“No selflessness amongst the selfish, I suppose…” she snapped before straightening with a huff.  Spider seemed sympathetic, but it was hard to tell as he pulled out a familiar sack from a hidden drawer.

“Here’s the collateral.  It’ll get you a lot farther than this slum ever would. I’m sorry, Mags, but I can’t help but feel this is the best for both parti--…”

“At least look me in the eye while you spew that bullshit.” Maggie spat as she grabbed the burlap sack and stormed off, taking with her a brown leather jacket which had been hanging nearby.  It wasn’t hers, but at this point, she didn’t care.  She needed to lay low, and now, thanks to Spider’s generous contribution to her struggles, she could now be a walking target just waiting to have a rocket dropped on her.  A dozen of Spider’s toads watched her leave, some inquiring as to what had irked her so to cause her to leave so hastily after just getting back.

“Fuck this shit-shack!  Fuck it straight to Hell!” she declared to any who happened to be within earshot.  “I’d tell Spider to fuck himself, but I doubt he’s even got anything down there.” She gripped the inside of her thigh in an obscene gesture, causing her witnesses to howl with laughter at the surprisingly bold assault on their superior’s honor.  

With one final huff, Magpie threw open the steel-enforced door and left, kicking it closed with the brunt of her combat boots.

First, she had to find an old friend of hers; a lurker and thief known to some as ‘Nyx’.


	4. Nyx

               A quiet tingling announced Magpie’s approach through the carved doorframe; a delicate collection of colored class woven by wires serving as an alarm for intruders, but as a windchime for visitors.  Nyx was always one for repurposing pretty things.  

A scuffling emerged from somewhere within the three-room apartment.

                “Maggie?” A feminine voice rang out from an adjacent hallway.  A wry grin emerged on the soldierly woman silhouetted against the doorway.

                “Hey, Nyx!” She called cheerfully.  Within moments, the bumbling, yet professional woman emerged, her dirty-blonde locks tied up in a matted braid as she grinned upon viewing her long-time friend for the first time in many a month.

                “I knew you’d be coming by…”

                “How’d you guess?” Magpie retorted playfully, her eyes glimmering despite the seemingly condescending tone in her voice.

                Nyx had been a long-time companion of Magpie’s back when her father had been serving Spider as a rogue agent.  With deep brown eyes, a deeply tanned complexion, and a toned, yet curvaceous, figure, Nyx earned her name for her ability to be akin to a shadow in the night.  She was wanted in a handful of districts for pick-pocketing someone from the wrong crowd, but that was years ago—surely everyone had forgotten by now. 

It was a career-choice that had landed the young woman in trouble a great many times, but now, thanks to her rigorous scrounging and saving, she’d been able to purchase a crumbling excuse for an apartment for the next few months.  It couldn’t even be considered much better than nothing, but at least it was a roof over her head.  Magpie had declined to join her friend upon finalizing the payment of the wind-blown establishment constructed from crumbling adobe bricks and plaster, having lived her entire life on the run and without a longstanding place to call home.  It was her belief that a house was merely a delusion of safety; that no building could ever harbor enough strength to keep all evil at bay as it attempts to convince its tenants.  So, what was the point of endeavoring to own a home with walls which surely would one day waste away into nothingness?   

                “Rumors have been floating around.” Nyx fell against the weather-worn sofa, bidding her friend to sit beside her.  At once, her seemingly contented demeanor was replaced with concern.  “Elysium’s looking for you because of your… your dad’s…”

                “I know that much… what else?  Do you know who might be following me?”

                Nyx shook her head, complacent with Magpie’s snippy behavior.   After all, it’d been a rough past few months with Spider constantly sending her out to do hell-knows-what, only to then dump her after everything like a pathetic romance novel…

                “No one knows… but he’s a Sleeper Agent working specifically a high-ranking officer of Elysium… they must really want you bad...” Nyx commented, her eyes wide with concern.

                “Tell me about it,” Maggie fumbled with the military dog tag adorning the stainless-steel ball chain at her neck.  “You’d think a parent would’ve actually cared about his kid enough to not leave her to the wolves.”

                Nyx offered a sympathetic smile as she massaged her friend’s shoulder affectionately.  “He loved you in his own way, I’m sure of it.  I doubt he knew he wasn’t going to come back.”

                Mags snorted, “It’s barely a 2% chance that you get through the atmosphere without burning up… He knew.  He just didn’t want to have to deal with the burden of having a kid, so he offed himself in a way that would portray him as a martyr rather than a coward escaping responsibility.”

                Nyx’s shoulder’s slackened as she silently waited for Magpie to undergo the brief wave of revulsion which she still clearly harbored for the deceased parent.  There was no way to talk Mags out of that ideology she harbored for her father, and so it was best that she say nothing.

                When the frail yet intimidating woman raised her head again, it was clear that she’d been weeping silently.

                “Elysium’s goons are after me…  I got something they want, or some shit—I don’t know…  I’m a wanted criminal now, because of my dad…” Mags gave a loud sniff and dragged the back of her wrist underneath her nose.

                That’s when Nyx’s dubious expression became horror-stricken.  “You’re joking, right?  They’re sending in the heavy artillery for some missing files that your dad swiped?  And why the hell do they think you have anything that they’d want?”

                “I don’t know… but Spider fired me because of it… I don’t have any place to go...”  Her eyes were red and glossy from crying.   She continued to fidget with the dogtag entwined around her neck, the pad of her thumb rhythmically going over the raised lettering inscribed on the tiny metal plate.  Her father’s name was etched proudly into the thin shard of steel, but that did little to earn back any of the respect having been stolen away so ruthlessly.  

                “Stay as long as you need, Mags.  I’ll scrounge up what’s left of the rations for the month and get you settled.  Do you mind that we share the bed again?”  

                Mags offered a watery smile, “Not at all… thank you so much…”

                Despite being notoriously uncomfortable with physical displays of gratitude, she wrapped her scrawny arms around the other girl, giving her a gentle, affectionate squeeze before pulling away.  Nyx, of course, returned the hug, giving her friend an encouraging grin.

                “Don’t worry about a thing… go on and rest and I’ll have dinner ready.” Already the sun was setting outside, giving way to the waning twinkle of distant stars above.  The brightest shining star was none other than Elysium, which shone like a second moon in the ebony sky.  Mags was transfixed by it, wondering if, perhaps, there was someone up there sneering down at her; pining for her destruction rather than watching over her like some benevolent deity she’d read about many years ago.

                Perhaps there was no contrast to the two manifestations of a higher power watching from afar… Mags decided she didn’t like that thought.


	5. The Terrorist's Vice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Its five-the-fuck-in-the-morning and I have work from 3-11 later today...  
> What am I doing? Updating a fanfiction. 
> 
> If I hate myself tomorrow I hope you appreciate the sacrifices made to post this for you :)

  

It hadn’t even been a few days of Mags’s residence in Nyx’s modestly small apartment.  All seemed as typical as every other day, which brought solace to Mags, who’d spent many a sleepless night fearing for the potential dangers merely waiting for the two of them to slip up.  The blonde woman would only leave the safety of the apartment if absolutely necessary and would tend to cover her face and hair in the event that she was recognized.  Mags, on the other hand, had placed herself under house-arrest; fearful of even glancing out the window into the sprawling roadways below.  Drones nonchalantly buzzed amidst the roaring populace of humans, and eventually offered up a sense of normality amidst the chaos.

                The supplies Spider had given her out of unadulterated pity did well to aid in her survivalist circumstances, and had also included a handful of weapons should she have need of them.  For once, it seemed that Spider had actually tried to make an effort in showing compassion.  Mags quietly slipped a smaller pistol beneath Nyx’s low-rise sofa to provide a bit of defense should the need arise.  Luckily, the shadows were perfectly able to hide the cruel instrument from the view of anyone not already searching for it.  With a huff, she strode out from the miniscule chamber, her fingers absently toying with the necklace loosely hanging from around her neck.  It glimmered dully against the contrast of grimy, sun-kissed flesh, which Magpie refused to acknowledge. 

It’d been weeks, if not months since she’d had a proper bath; the last time being in an oil-polluted lake she and a group of Spider’s goons had discovered on one of their journeys.  She hadn’t minded being naked around the older men, and they gave her the respect of not looking at her bare body after the armor she’d worn had been stripped away.  The only thing that joined her in that putrid lake was the dog tag, which had also received a much-needed scrub that day.

Somehow, despite the grim history of the seemingly trivial heirloom, touching the bumpy metal brought on some semblance of collectedness.  Perhaps it was a subconscious reminder of happier times…

A rustling in the adjacent room could be heard, signaling Nyx’s return from the marketplace.  Magpie looked up, a polite smile of greeting accentuating her features.

“Didn’t think you’d be coming back!   Didja get our rations alright?  Or do I have to show them what it feels like to have a woman touch them for the first time--,”

As she’d been talking, Magpie had been making her way towards the living room, her eyes downcast towards a water-damaged book having been stashed in a nearby bookshelf. 

Yes, it was Nyx at the door, but there was something wrong.

She was white as a sheet, visibly trembling as she stood frozen at the doorframe.  Before Magpie could inquire as to what might’ve been wrong, the barrel of a high-tech gun emerged into view, jabbing Nyx between the shoulder blades to urge her through the slouching threshold.

A lanky half-cyborg strode into the doorframe, his dirty features concealed behind a full beard.  Though his eyes shone, they lacked a soul.  Magpie was rooted to the spot, seldom moving for fear of what disasters this goon could possibly inflict if she were too hasty.  

“Aren’t you lovely lass’s gonna invite me in? ‘s very rude to leave guests waiting…” The stranger commented, his voice encumbered with a thick accent.  Nyx let out a stifled whimper, frightening Magpie in more ways than could be described in words alone.  Though Mags hid her emotions expertly, stubborn wrath seeped through, shattering the illusion of invulnerability. 

“What do you want here?  We’ve done nothing wrong.” Magpie’s hands rose reluctantly over her head as her breathing came out soft and reluctant, as though she feared to breathe without this dangerous creature’s permission.  The six-foot-tall figure abruptly clutched Nyx to his metal-clad breast, the grip on his weapon refusing to waver even slightly. 

He let out a soft chuckle, unbelieving of Magpie’s desperate attempt for a cover-up story. “I’m lookin’ for something… and I reckon ye can help me.” 

The way he’d spoken confirmed his awareness of the situation at hand.

“Put the gun down and let’s talk about things reasonably…” Sweat glistened against every contour of Magpie’s clean-shaven features, accentuating and contouring her more feminine traits which had once been disguised by layers of filth. 

“Why don’t we have dinner first; it’s been a long day and I’m famished… Won’t you whip us up something, dearie?” He inquired gently to Nyx who still appeared so small in comparison to this hulking figure.  Without warning, she was thrown from his grip, the sheer abruptness of it causing her to fall forward and collapse on the ground. 

“It’s a good thing she didn’t forget your week’s rations.” The bounty hunter stated with an ominous chuckle, only adding fuel to the fire which now illuminated the dire circumstances.

Nyx scraped herself from the ground, her breathing labored after it’d been knocked from her.  A burlap sack Magpie hadn’t noticed earlier produced forth the rations she’d been sent out to retrieve, and it didn’t take long for her to disappear into the kitchen.  Magpie couldn’t conceal the relief having washed over her, though the sensation itself was fleeting.

A short pause filled the air as the lanky stranger’s gaze raked over the scrawny woman’s gait.  “You were immensely difficult to track down; you should be pleased with your efforts.” He began calmly, as though they were both simply enjoying a nonchalant conversation over tea.  Magpie’s guard refused to wane, even as his gun was set aside and he sat comfortably against the couch she’d only just put the gun beneath.

“Where was the flaw in my actions?” She replied, leaning against the plaster wall as she crossed her arms over her chest.

“That’s jus’ the thing, baby; it was a flawless undertaking—had my men sniffin’ and scroungin’ about for weeks… usually, it only takes minutes to hours for them to find a target I have been sent for.  You must come from a long line of thieves, am ah right?” He spat into the adjacent corner.

“Who are you?” Magpie accused. “Who sent you here? Bounty Hunters don’t usually stalk the impoverished unless there’s something in it for them.”

“Easy, easy, darlin’… One question at a time.” The older figure assumed the demeanor of a gentleman, setting aside his gun as though that would initiate some semblance of peace between either of them.  Magpie didn’t buy his display for a moment, her eyes scanning feverishly over the numerous projectiles and wires which now protruded from the weathered man’s appendages.

“Fine; your benefactors.  Tell me their names.”

“Elysium.” He replied as his fingertips danced over the mechanics of his cyborg arm.  Just the way he’d spoken the title of his superiors sent chills down the young woman’s spine.  “Now, are we gonna hear yer name, baby? Since ye got mine, ain’t it only right that I get yours?”

Magpie was silent for a time, during which Kruger began prodding against the hidden buttons of his adjacent wrist.  She didn’t want to know what he was initiating, be it a gun or some sort of global positioning service.

“Margaret.” She stated grimly.  “My name is Margaret.”

His eyebrow arched with intrigue before he glanced up at her.  “That’s no’ a common name fer a thief ‘round these parts…”

“Well, I’m not particularly common.  And I’m not a thief.”

A deep chuckle resonated from the back of Kruger’s throat, “Indeed.” 

Clearly, he didn’t believe her.

“Alright, enough with the niceties… What do you want?” Magpie’s voice resounded with impatience.

A serpent-like grin crinkled the stranger’s features; this had been what he was waiting for, so it seemed. “Well… Margaret… Foster, you have a bounty on yer head... an’ a rather large one at tha’.”

Hearing her birthname uttered by a stranger after so many years of disregard felt like being introduced to an old friend whose name had long been forgotten.  An involuntary tremor tore down her spine.  “That _is_ your surname, isn’t it?”

The silence was her reply, and that was all it took.  A self-satisfied laugh resounded from his lips as he sat back against the couch. 

That’s when Nyx approached, carrying with her a timid bowl of what appeared to be beans mixed with a plethora of spices.  Magpie had hoped she’d clambered out of the back window and disappeared, but at the same time, she knew that her closest friend would never abandon her to a notorious goon of Elysium’s. 

An amused smile quirked the bounty hunter’s features at the humble offering.  Mags couldn’t believe Nyx had actually offered food to him even though it was earlier assumed he’d been kidding in order to establish some form of dominance over the two tenants.

“Good girl…” His thick accent rang like a church bell from a lifetime ago.  Magpie felt sick.  

With one hand, he carefully took the wooden bowl, and with the other, yanked her by the arm until she collapsed beside him, a terrified squeak tearing from her lips.  She was practically crushed against his lap as she struggled to pry his metal-infused palm from her scrawny forearm.

He took a hefty mouthful of the bowl’s contents before speaking, “I didn’t want to have to do this, baby girl, I’m sorry.”

Magpie couldn’t tell as to whom he was speaking to.

“An’ now, Miss Foster, you’re gonna go and stand by the door for me, yes?  No stalling.”

It didn’t even require a second thought for Magpie to bolt from her resting spot against the wall, as though she’d been stung, and stride calmly towards the door, ice piercing her heart.  Kruger’s gaze never left hers, even as he savored another gulp of the concoction Nyx had supplied.  At Mags’ arrival to the doorway, the bounty hunter rose from his sitting position, the gentle whirr of varying currents of electricity coursing through his every joint as he rose. 

“J-Just get out of here, Mags—Go!” Nyx abruptly ducked beneath the arm she hadn’t been clamped by, successfully managing to rip free of his clutches mere seconds later.  At this, his attention was directed towards the blonde having escaped, giving Magpie an opportunity to grab the pistol she’d only recently concealed. 

She’d only been on the ground for a moment before an ear-splitting clap of energy resounded from nearby. Then another, and another, and another…

Mags’ thigh screamed with pain as she let out a strangled yelp.  Touching the wound only worsened the agony already seeping beneath her skin.  

The bounty hunter had fired his Elysium-grade weapon, hitting Magpie’s leg just above the knee…

And hitting Nyx twice in the chest and once in the head.

The pain Magpie felt upon witnessing her best friend now strewn dead atop the simple furniture she’d sat against only that morning felt worse than any physical bullet-wound now causing Mags’ blood to pool beneath her in a massive lake of crimson.  She wanted to cry, but the tears refused to fall.

“I had no choice, baby girl… This’ll make you forget; hold still…” 

He knelt down next to the young woman’s crumpled figure, brushing his fingertips down the back of her head until he located a specific portion of her neck.  Magpie dug her fingertips into the ground, desperately writhing towards wherein that tiny pistol hid… She could feel the hilt at the very tips of her fingers… it was already loaded, it just needed to be fired…

 His hand wrapped completely around Magpie’s neck, squeezing tightly until her breathing caught and her lips became chilled.

“Shhh… shhh…” He whispered as the corners of her vision darkened bit by bit.

Then darkness…   


	6. Kruger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I dislocated my knee as a result of a stumble I took while on my way home. 
> 
> Now I have loads of time to write fanfiction! :D

                Magpie was in no way, shape, or form a heavy sleeper.  Perhaps it was a result of her childhood and being raised by Jasce Foster, whom up until his recent passing, had always been on the move and flighty regardless of what time of day it was. 

‘Patterns create targets,’ He’d warned one fateful morning when young Maggie had been reluctant to leave the sleepy little village they’d made their residence for the past week or two.  He’d been chiding her for wanting a ‘Normal’ life; one wherein they wouldn’t have to cower and hide from security and avoid befriending anyone outside of their home. 

‘You have no business being ‘normal’ or laboring under the delusion that you’re just like everyone else.’  He snapped while he continued to pack what few belongings he’d hoarded over the years.  She was only six but had the independence and wit of someone thrice her age.  

‘Then what am I?’ Maggie inquired thoughtfully, her sharp gaze seemingly far too wise for someone so small.  She already looked so much like her mother, and Jasce didn’t know whether to find happiness or devastation as a result of that fact.

That’s when he’d set aside the shirt he was folding and turned around, ‘You’re my beautiful Magpie…’

That had been the first and last time he’d ever given her a compliment, because mere months after having moved deep into the city, she would be left behind at a run-down orphanage managed by a collective of religious leaders.  

At first, Maggie didn’t know what to say or think upon her own father’s unprepared departure, but as she matured into a woman, she discovered the truth for herself: 

Jasce Foster had abandoned her, and whether he had done so out of fear for her own safety or simply to be liberated from the grueling challenge of raising a child, Mags had never truly forgiven him for it, regardless of his efforts to seek redemption.   

Against all odds, Jasce Foster _had_ actually taught her something that she would carry with her throughout her life:  That being, any semblance of ritual or pattern was dangerous, especially in his and her case.  It was that same credo that had kept her alive for so long, and was the reason she was rarely able to stay asleep for longer than a few hours at a time, why she seldom ever purchased the same groceries at the same booths, and why she found great difficulty in making and keeping friends; ritualistic tendencies were a curse amongst her and her kin, and she’d dedicated her entire life to overcoming that flaw in her coding.  Luckily for her, it hadn’t taken long past her departure from the orphanage.    

  Under usual circumstances, it was an effortless endeavor to rouse her from even her deepest slumber, to the point that there was an instance where, just outside Mags’ window, a moth’s wings had silhouetted against the waning yellow streetlights just over her closed eyelids, rousing her completely in the context of only a few moments.    

                There was something wrong, here, however.  

                Instead of the regular hum-drum of muted chaos which regularly fluctuated throughout the poorest communities, an uncanny amount of silence filled the air, which was miles beyond comforting in Magpie’s experiences.   Either she was dead, or something horrible had happened. 

                ‘Please let it be the former’, she mused anxiously to herself. 

                Opening her eyes revealed that she was in a garage-like apartment; wires and cables encumbering the tarnished stainless-steel wall panels.  A lot of the interior repairs were clearly the product of a blow-torch, as well as a great many modifications to fortify and expand the area.     Confusion, followed by worry filled Maggie, causing her to rise from the burlap mattress on which she’d found herself.        

Before abruptly falling again after a roaring migraine pulsated from her neck to the bridge between her eyes.  There wasn’t a single doubt in her mind that she’d gotten a concussion, as while she reeled from the initial onslaught of pain, nausea broiled beneath her ribs.   While she strained to clear her throat, and overcome the throbbing of her skull, a heavy weight around her neck made its presence known.  Mags wasted little time in raising her hands to investigate the peculiar addition to her wardrobe.

                It was shaped like an Elysium-woman’s choker, though Magpie was more than just certain that it was far from the case for her circumstances.  It hummed a barely discernable tone which she couldn’t detect unless she made a genuine effort to do so.  There was no mirror, but she could already tell what its purpose served as she dragged her fingertips through the nooks and crevices of the stubborn device. 

                That’s when she took notice of her clothes; they were gone, and serving as a replacement was a cover-all commonly worn regularly by the citizens of Elysium…

                It was stiff, scratchy, and roughly three sizes too big on Magpie’s dusty torso.  Where were her old clothes? And above all, where was Nyx?

                Rather than be nervous for her assailant to find her awake and out of the bed, Magpie slipped from the makeshift bed and crawled along the ground as low as she physically could in order to avoid the next spell of dizziness and queasiness as though she firmly believed that being quiet enough would protect her from the heinous side-effect of her recent excursion.

                “An’ where are ye off to in such a harry?” A foreign, yet familiar, voice resounded from afar.  Magpie’s gait flinched violently before she glanced upward towards where the voice had resounded from.  He’d been as silent as a shadow despite his robotic implants bestowing on this stranger an ominous and hulking gait.  

                There, he stood, wearing only a loose pair of filthy, brown slacks and an opened shirt. Immediately, Magpie recognized him as being the intruder she’d confronted that morning, who also had been Nyx’s assassin.

                Mags’ heart ached at the memory of her friend’s final actions being in order to protect her. 

                “Why did you take me?” She demanded angrily while she rose from the dusty metal ground beneath.  “What do you want?”

                Kruger gave a slight chuckle, “Oh it doesn’t matter right now. What _I_ wanted to know was what you were gonna try in order to leave… Go on, pretend I’m not even here.”

                He sat back against the threshold of the door he’d approached from and gave her a cheeky grin, his matted beard concealing a majority of his sun-tanned features.

                Magpie was frozen whether out of fear or shame, glaring at the figure before her while he returned the gaze with clear amusement.  A moment of silence was exchanged between the two, before Kruger sat up from the metal frame of the door, obviously having grown tired of the banter they’d briefly exchanged.

                “I assume you know why you’ve earned the luxury of becoming my bounty?”

                Magpie gave a curt shrug, “My father stole a couple grands too many? I don’t think I need to tell you that I can’t afford to pay it back.”

                “Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong…” Kruger retorted simply as he skulked towards a sofa having been resting against the nearby doorframe. “Y’see, Jasce might’ve been a fool who’d bitten off far more than he could chew, but he was clever…”

                Magpie quirked an eyebrow, her stature stiff and wooden as she moved into a crouching position, preparing herself for the headache that surely awaited her as a result of standing.  What was this old fool nagging about?

                “He was known for assisting in the construction of the various ships that would take supplies up to Elysium; the only problem is, Elysium wasn’t the only company he was working for--…”

                Magpie struggled to remain uninterested, but as Kruger spoke.  Already it seemed as though he had the answers she’d unknowingly been seeking since she was small.  If only she didn’t loathe the very air this creature breathed for what he’d done to Nyx.   

                “I don’t care what you say about him… I already know what he is.” Magpie spat, rising completely for the first time that day.  Luckily the responding headache was a subtle one, and not nearly what she’d prepared for.  “He’s a child-abandoning whelp who deserves exactly what he got.”

                Kruger let out a deep, uproarious laugh at her petty claims, “You’re right about tha’, lass, but there’s still more.”

                “Fine, you’re leading me to asking you the question, so why string me along any further?  _What did he steal that’s so goddamn important that you had to kill my friend in cold blood?!”_ The pain seething beneath Mags’ chest came to a broil almost immediately. 

                Kruger gave an indifferent shrug, smirking all the while even as Magpie’s eyes watered.

                “Casualties…” He murmured apathetically, “But ta’ answer yer question, the man known as Jasce Foster has stolen something of vital importance to Elysium’s Governess, and she promised a hefty fee when I return it back to her.  Problem is, there’s only one person alive who knows its whereabouts.”  

A knowing glint shone in the bounty hunters’ pitiless eyes.

                “You got the wrong person if you think it’s me.”  Mags coughed while crossing her sinewy arms over her chest. “Though, I appreciate the efforts you exerted to find me.”

                Kruger gave a humorless smirk, watching as Mags strode casually towards where the entryway surely waited.  Luckily for her, it did, however a fingerprint scanner held it sealed.  It didn’t take much to figure out who was the sole owner of the fingerprints that would grant her freedom. 

                She attempted to return to the room she’d awoken in to see Krueger standing in the doorframe, still as silent as ever despite the seemingly stifling mechanics holding him.

                Magpie bit back the urge to panic as she glowered up at the imposing figure, “Open the door.”

                “You’re forgetting something, baby…”

                She openly grimaced at the pet-name he’d stuck her with. “Oh, did I forget to thank you for ripping me out of my house and killing my best friend? Yea, sorry, I’m not doing that.”

                He raised a gloved hand, revealing a familiar talisman which had never before left Magpie’s neck until now.

                The dog-tag chain of her father’s; The one he wore while he served as a soldier.

                Without realizing it, her hands found its way up to her neck where the seemingly insignificant charm regularly would’ve rested, and instead found the metallic collar ensnaring her throat.  She’d almost forgotten that it was there…

                “We have much to discuss, baby… So I suggest you take a seat…”  


	7. Wanted Dead or Alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life got at me, preventing me from writing

                “That doesn’t belong to you…” Maggie stated through the grit of her teeth.  A fire burned beneath her hollow gaze, but that did little to deter the smug grin of the creature before her.

                He spat into a corner of the room, causing her to wonder just how quickly the little makeshift hovel would flood if he kept such a repulsive habit.  “No shit…”

                Maggie faltered, “That’s mine; you have no right to it.”

                “You have quite the gift for perception, baby.” He replied languidly as he dangled the chain from the tips of his fingers.  “But you’re not being very reasonable with your request.”

                If words could kill, Kruger would’ve been dead less than twenty minutes ago.

                “May… I… please… have… my… tags…. back…” Each word was accentuated to the point of being unmistakable, even by a passerby.  Kruger beamed even more satisfactorily. 

                “That’s much better, darlin…”

                To Maggie’s surprise, he tossed the lightweight metal chain across the empty air and into her opened palms.  Without wasting a moment, she looped the ornament over her head, feeling it settle back into place.  A calm reassurance took over her anxious limbs, as though the army-tags were a barrier protecting her from the scrutiny of the world.

                Kruger began tapping his foot dramatically, “I’m _waiting_.”

                Maggie raised her head once more to scowl at her abductor. “For what?”

                All at once, she was on the floor, a jolt of pain having caused her limbs to become useless and rubbery.  With her body still cavorting from the sudden blast of energy, Magpie averted her gaze, knowing fully what’d just happened to her even before he had to explain.

                It was the collar she wore against her neck, and now she knew the full extent of its purpose.

                “What was tha’, darlin?  I didn’t quite catch it…” His thunderous boots caused the ground beneath her to tremble, as though it also was afraid of the impending threat.

                Magpie faltered before she made an attempt to crawl away to the furthest corner.  Her legs had lost feeling, though the sensation of pins and needles resonating in waves along her feet confirmed that this was but a temporary setback. 

Would she have long enough to recover?

Another blast of energy surged through her bones, causing a pitched wail to resound from the back of Mags’ throat, sending her against the ground once more where the cool metal flooring did well to soothe her sensitive flesh.  

“Now,” Kruger snapped as he towered ominously over her, “Are we going to have any more complaints?  Or should we try again?”

Before he had the chance to trigger another bout of electricity, Maggie raised her hand in surrender, the tips of her fingers trembling adamantly despite how desperately she endeavored to cease.

“N-no…” 

“That’s more like it…” He praised before a chilled palm slid affectionately over the top of her shaved head.   She cowered away from his goading, which caused him to give her a disdainful ‘ _tsk’_ of his tongue.

“So, here’s what’s going to happen, baby…” He began, though his attention was averted to the evidently complicated collections of machinery still holding his arm hostage.  What could Magpie do but listen?

“You’re no use to the Governess of Elysium dead or alive seein’ as all she needed was what was inscribed on these little taggies…” Kruger held up Jasce Foster’s army tags as though Magpie would’ve otherwise had no idea what he was talking about.  “Anyways, seeing as how you’ve retained a fairly elusive profile for all these years, and the only other person who's ever known about you is now deceased, you’re no longer much use to anyone anymore, leaving you dead to the world--.”

“That’s not true.” Maggie retorted with a defiant sneer.

Kruger met her resentment with unabashed glee. “Miss Foster, do you take me as a fool?  Do you honestly think I _don’t_ do my research on a target?

“You’ve been off the grid since before your father died; laying low, leaving as soon as your presence became a commonplace amongst the residents of that area, and skipping down even before the first signs of danger were put up.  Take it as admiration when I say, you were _thorough_ in your efforts to stay hidden, my dear.  And they almost would’ve worked if not for your… friend.”

                That’s when Magpie lunged at the massive beast before her like a bull charging a crimson sheet, her wiry frame inconsequential when paired against Kruger’s unyielding, metal-integrated stance.  He raised an arm and that was all it took to deflect her from impacting.  Shame and despair broiled in Maggie’s blood as she fought desperately against the imposing figure, her bony fists balled and battering against the unyielding exterior. 

                Sure enough, he was quick to press the trigger of the shock-collar, sending yet another jolt of energy from her neck, outwards.  Wasting little time, her hands clamped into his wrist and clenched tighter, still, watching in pained relief when some of the pain she was forced to endure transferred into him.  He grunted and pried her hands away, revealing a collection of sickle-shaped incisions against his flesh.

                “… Bitch--,” He snapped before smacking her across the face with the back of his palm, sending her to the ground while her jaw bounced out of place if only for a moment.

                “I was going to play nice… But now, I see, there’s no point.” He snarled before twisting her arm around until she was crying out in pain.  Another half an inch in the wrong direction and her bones would surely become dislodged.  “You’re of no use to anyone anymore, so I’m going to make you a deal…” He slurred against her ear, his voice mellow and nonchalant even while she screamed and writhed to escape his ironclad grip.

                “Either I kill you now, and you’re left to rot out in the wastes, or you do as I say and have a roof over your head and food in your gut in exchange for work.  Do you understand me?”

                Magpie was desperate, now, her vision watery as she nodded once, twice, thrice.  

                Finally, he released her, and there was a brief respite of Maggie regulating her breathing and collecting herself.  Looking up at the gangly figure before her, she felt the true weight of the bargain he was upholding.  How much did she care for her survival to live in servitude to this Elysium-toady?

                She didn’t want to die.  Not like this; not so soon.

                He began tapping his boot against the metal ground, causing a dull ringing to resonate with each impact.  “I’m waiting.”

                “What kind of work?” Mags’ inquired evenly, her stony gaze refusing to meet his.

                “I can’t say for sure; whatever needs to get done, and whatever I tell you to do.  Is that a good enough answer?”

                Her tongue was like a block of lead in her jaw. “For how long?” 

                At this inquiry, Krueger stopped, obviously mulling something over in his head while she still kneeled before him. 

                “Five years.” He declared, at last, causing Maggie’s shoulder’s to noticeably relax despite her efforts to conceal the relief she felt.  “But, I expect you to follow each of my instructions to the letter, and you will address me as ‘Sir’, is that understood?  If you refuse or become negligent in your duties, your sentence will be death.”

                “Yes… sir…” The title clung to her and made her stomach roil.  

                “Excellent, now, help me get this shite off.”

                Kruger sat down against the stained cushions and extended the wire-encapsulated arm still clinging against his flesh.  Magpie watched with a scornful demeanor, declining to move even after Kruger had issued out an order.

                Quirking an eyebrow, the rugged man allowed his fingertips to flinch towards the gun he’d set aside.  One pull of a trigger and she’d be dead.

                “Fine…” She spat.

                “What was that?” Kruger asked rhetorically, obviously implying that she should’ve verbally complied while also repeating his self-proclaimed title again.

                “Yes, sir.” 

                Magpie stood, refusing to offer even the slightest hint at what she was thinking through her expression which remained devoid and stoic.  Her tiny fingertips made quick work of the last remaining buckles and straps, and the machine fell away.  Kruger audibly sighed, sitting back while she carefully set the armor aside.

                He watched her out of the corner of his eye. “Now the boots… and be quick about it.”

                She was already beginning to recede back onto the floor, but not before Kruger cleared his throat loudly.

                Magpie was infuriated to the point of screaming, but she kept it bottled. “ _Yes, sir_.”    

                “Good girl…” He sighed before leaning deeper against the sofa and watching her with mild intrigue as she set to the mud-caked laces of his army-grade boots.

 

                The day didn’t seem to end for Mags whom, after having undressed her ‘sir’ to his exact instructions, was then sent into an adjacent room to retrieve a new set of clothes since the ones he wore were caked in sweat, dirt, and other such stains.  She’d half expected him to tell her to dress him, as though he were a helpless baby, but instead, he referred her to the kitchen-area, which could barely be justified as one.  An ice-box protected a small collective of perishable foods, and a garbage-covered countertop stood beside, so full of clutter that any sort of movement of an item from the piles would result in a number of them clamoring to the floor, regardless of what measures were taken.  Magpie was beside herself.

                Kruger strode in, having just changed into the newer clothes (Which were still muddled with a wide array of stains, mind you), and seemed to notice the younger woman’s distress at the state of her new home.

                “Tomorrow I want this all cleaned off while I’m working… got it?  All the items must be accounted for that are there, and if anything is missing… well, I think you know.”

                Mags bit the inside of her cheek but answered appropriately.

                “For now, I think I’m gonna have ye’ polish the armor still in the other room.  Spit-shine the boots, polish the metal; I want it to be as though they were brand new, got it?”

                She voiced her compliance but stopped short.  “Am I able to use anything to clean them?... A rag? Soap?... Anything?”  

                Kruger eyed her for a moment, his hollow gaze raking up and down the sharp contours of her figure while he considered her request.

                “I’ll get ye’ whatcha need...”  He replied.    

That’s when Kruger abruptly retreated into yet another debris-filled room, the unruly concordance of rubbish being rifled through finding its way into Maggie’s ears and causing her to wince.   As soon as the noise was halted for longer than a few seconds, a raucous tearing of fabric concluded Kruger’s hunt, and he emerged into the room once more, tossing a tin bucket in her direction. She just barely caught it before it otherwise would’ve struck the ground and found that it harbored a half-empty plastic bottle of water and a beige rag.  Setting the bucket aside, Maggie gingerly plucked the bottle from it, twisting the cap open and dumping its contents into the tin.  Moments before she was going to kneel down and begin the complicated assignment, she heard him clear his throat rather uproariously from behind her.

“I don’t even get a ‘thank you’?”

                “Thank you,” She replied evenly while her fingertips clenched into fists at her hips.  “Sir.”

Kruger seemed satisfied, at least for now, and his shadow soon retreated into another room, leaving her to the task at hand. 

For a moment, the stubborn, nomadic side of her toyed with the idea of finding a way out of the makeshift prison she’d awoken into and fleeing from Kruger for however long she needed to.  Her hands had scarcely begun to gather the water-logged rag still floating within the bucket as she glanced at the nearby door, its presence taunting her all the while.  So close yet so far…

From the other room, Kruger could be heard chanting a foreign melody, obviously content with the circumstances he’d recently come into.  Maggie felt resentment broil within her as her dampened fingertips tugged against the fitted choker still wound around her throat.  It wouldn’t even budge, despite the effort she’d put into trying to force even a thumbnail between the metal and her skin.

Finally, with a disgruntled huff, she heaved the rag from the murky bucket, giving it a determined squeeze to remove the excess water before it abruptly clapped against the metal that was regularly found entwined around Kruger’s bicep.  Weeks of blood and grime came up with the rag, causing Maggie to hold back the urge to heave at the sight. 

By the time she was eventually satisfied with the rather complicated endeavor, she allowed the rag to slip from her fingertips, its exterior stained far beyond anything that could ever be removed.  The water within the bucket boasted a musty-smelling maroon tint and caused her to wince when she had to wrap her palms around its girth and carry it into the other room.

Kruger was sitting calmly at the table having been piled high with garbage, tinkering with a mechanical knick-knack in his weathered, calloused palms. 

Maggie cleared her throat, recalling when she’d had to do that whenever she needed her father’s attention as a child. “What do you want me to do with this?” She tilted the bucket in his direction as his gaze slid to face her.

“So yer done then?” He inquired smugly.

“Yep.”

“Hm… Good…” He answered with what could’ve been admiration before rising.

“Put it at the door; it’ll get taken care of later.  For now, sit there, it’s almost dinnertime.”

Maggie turned to where he’d gestured briefly to see it was a simple stool which barely came up to her kneecap in height.  It was like a child’s seat, and Maggie felt another pang of resentment unfurl within her at that revelation.  He wanted her to feel small and possibly even weak whenever in his presence, that much was obvious.  Disgust ached within her, but that was quickly overcome by the need for food while she sat down against the once polished flat of wood which made up the stool.  Kruger came back in before turning into the kitchen area.  She couldn’t see what was happening, only that he had ripped open a small package, which appeared similar to an oatmeal packet, and poured it into an awaiting bowl.  He began humming again as he then poured a hefty serving of a particular liquid into that same bowl.  Maggie watched intently, her stomach roaring loudly enough that she was concerned that he would hear it and mock her as a result.

The bowl which appeared only partially full soon began to fill with what appeared to be a bread-like substance; its floury exterior ballooning out like a loaf of bread rising even while she watched.  Eventually, the loaf’s expanding slowed to a halt, and that’s when Kruger carried it over to the area he’d been sitting at earlier.  He pulled a glass bottle from somewhere beneath his seat and used the rim of the table to remove the metal lid.  The sickly-sharp scent of alcohol burned against Maggie’s nose as Kruger took a shamelessly large gulp of the concoction. 

That’s when he seemed to notice Maggie eyeing his ration like a starved man would eye a banquet, and he was quick to tear off a small portion and toss it to her.  The amount he gave was barely the equivalent of a few bites, but Maggie attacked it regardless, tearing into it like a feral beast.  Kruger watched her with an amused glint in his eye as he patiently enjoyed his own.  When Maggie had finished the piece her captor had contributed and she’d begun licking the floury crumbs from her fingertips, she eyed Kruger expectantly, her eyes wordlessly begging for more.

Kruger sniggered between chews. “Someone was hungry, eh?”

                She didn’t answer, her eyes scarcely breaking from the remainder of the meal he’d barely finished two-thirds of.  Her stomach moaned again.

                “Here, babygirl, try this…” He held the bottle out to her, pulling it away when her fingertips chastely reached for it.  “Ah, ah, ah… Can’t have you take too much, now…”

                Her arms fell to her sides as though she were a marionette whose strings had been cut.  Once more he tilted the bottle towards her expectant lips, allowing some of the beverage to spill onto her tongue before he quickly pulled it back once more.  Maggie obediently swallowed, feeling the unfamiliar burning sensation roil along her throat, heating her flesh if only for a second.

                No more attention was paid to her that evening, and Kruger finished the rations by himself before tossing the bowl onto the already teetering pile having accumulated over months of neglect.  A pained grimace danced briefly over her features as she beheld the crust Kruger having left clinging to the bowl. Three more straight glugs of the bottle he’d been nursing, and it was empty. 

                Kruger cleared his throat, returning Maggie’s gaze to his own. “Now, sweetheart, it’s time to go to bed; shall I show you to your new bedroom?” He seemed almost eager, and that concerned Maggie immensely.

                She rose, her arse sore from how small the stool was in comparison to her and dubiously followed behind her captor, trying desperately to ignore the roiling in her stomach.   That little bit of… whatever it was had not settled well with her.  She hoped that it wouldn’t cause her to vomit.

                Climbing into a darkened threshold, Kruger led her into what appeared to be a soldier’s quarters; a one-person mattress flat overtop a mesh-wire frame which creaked and groaned obnoxiously at even the slightest press of weight.  No other furniture aside from that existed in the dark, little room, Maggie’s eyes scanning each and every inch of the room expectantly.

                “Is that _my_ bed?” She pointed at the torture-device that made up the stained spring-mattress.

                Kruger scoffed, “Of course not.  You’re gonna sleep there.” He pointed at the ground wherein a stained carpet and a single, tatty blanket laid patiently. 

                “But… I can’t sleep there…” Maggie protested desperately.  Already her joints felt miserable at the sight of the makeshift bed.

                Kruger’s neutral expression instantly soured, his gaze fiery as he scowled at her.  “You’re lucky I don’ chain ye up outside like a dog and leave ye there for the local cannibals.  And if you think I’m joking just to frighten yeh, you’d be surprised what humans are capable of when they’re hungry.”

                Almost as though on a cue, a cacophony of voices cackled in the dark just outside the walls. Maggie felt goosebumps tingle against her flesh.

                “So, will there be any more complaints tonight?” He inquired rhetorically as he stripped until he was wearing nothing but a pair of Elysium-grade slacks.  The metal implants against his taut chest caught Maggie’s eye, but only for a moment.

                “I can’t hear ye…”

                “No.”

                “Good.” He stated before throwing himself against his own bed, eliciting a shriek of the aged springs as he adjusted himself.  Maggie obediently laid against the sturdy, itchy carpet, using the blanket he’d provided as a makeshift sheet to escape the rash she’d surely earn if she didn’t.  Tucking her arms under her head, she allowed her knees to curl up against her ribs to achieve some semblance of protection against the slight chill having claimed the air. 

                Against all odds, Maggie could feel lethargy approaching and overcoming her.  Perhaps it was the alcohol she’d consumed, or perhaps he’d put something in the food she’d accepted, but none of that mattered.  At least this was an element of her circumstances that she didn’t have to hate herself for.  At least she could escape Kruger in her dreams…        


	8. Toxicity

                Her joints ached, and her fingertips bled from the seemingly infinite number of chores she was appointed each morning by Kruger prior to his departure the various missions he, too, had been assigned.    At first, it was a simple undertaking, an almost familiar endeavor in most cases; scrubbing the floors and washing the dishes as needed.  Like all those romanticized tales of indentured servants striving to appeal to their master’s favor, Maggie did everything in her power to ensure that Kruger wouldn’t forget to feed her upon the discovery of a neglected chore upon his return home (there had been more than one instance where such had been the case).

                There was still much to be done, including but not limited to polishing Kruger’s second pair of army-boots as well as the outer armor which he’d left behind.  Blisters had long ago bubbled up and popped against her clammy palms, but she’d accepted it as a tribute to her trials here under Kruger’s care (if it could even be referred to as such). 

With each day that crept eerily by, Maggie could feel her sanity gradually slipping away alongside the many long hours.  There were no windows to reveal to her what time of the day it was, which resulted in Maggie relying solely on her captor’s return home which was almost clockwork as far as she could tell.  Upon his arrival, she was expected to act as his personal servant; perfectly obedient and machinelike in the accuracy of his demands. 

                She would race to the door upon the initial whirring and commotion of the locks releasing and stand to the side of the thresh in order to allow him entry.  With her hands behind her back and her stature soldierly, she would take anything he handed her, declining to speak unless he spoke first.  This had been a practice which took much trial and error, but, much to Kruger’s delight, was quickly established as a ritual for the young woman now under his care.  

                It seemed cruel to her initially, how indifferent he seemed in regards to her safety, but since he was giving her food, shelter, and a bed to sleep in, wasn’t it fair that she accommodate his needs in return, right?  After all, where could she go now that Nyx was gone and no one owed her the time of day? It was an unfortunate truth for Maggie, but it was one she accepted as the best-case scenario in comparison to the multitude of other fates which otherwise would have claimed her. 

                Kruger had been explicitly detailed when it came to her arrest, and now there wasn’t a single man, woman, or child who might’ve possibly noticed her absence after Nyx’s passing.  In a way, that guaranteed a fresh start once she managed to free herself or he let her go, but heaven only knew how long it’d be before that fateful day would arrive.

                At least he wasn’t abusive.

                Well, that was a lie…

                But it wasn’t anything that she hadn’t felt before.  The nurses having cared for her as a child rarely spared the rod when it came to Maggie’s upbringing, but that’s what made her into the woman she was today.  They had only inflicted injury to the younglings who insisted on acting out and rebelling against authority, which was something that Mags endeavored to do more often than she cared to admit.

                Strong; resilient; determined.  She was as cunning as an assassin and as tough as a marine, and someday soon would find her way out from the elaborate dungeon which Kruger had unceremoniously contained her in.  She wasn’t going to let this Elysium-scum break her down into anything less than what she was.  She would outlast his cruel practices whether by her eventual escape or his demise.  That thought comforted her as the length of her residency sluggishly progressed.

                A tell-tale whirring resounded from the adjacent room, causing goosebumps to rise against Maggie’s neck.  She’d been so absorbed in her thoughts that barely any of the chores had been completed.  His second set of armor was still caked in blood and grime from the day prior and his knives had yet to be sharpened.  What would he say?!

                Why did she care?

                The possibility of eating seemed less and less likely, and that caused her abdomen to throb and groan in response.  She’d already lost so much weight as a result of her unwanted fast…

                Rolling the tattered rag between her palms, she wasted little time in dashing to the door, standing exactly where she always did as though there was an imprint of her feet outlined in the stained metal flooring. 

                The door gave a loud hiss before it fell open with a shriek of the ancient hinges. 

                Kruger strode in, caked in dust from head to toe. There must’ve been a sandstorm; a common occurrence in the outskirts of the small villages which now replaced the evidently proud cities of the yesteryears.

                He gave a loud, sputtering cough before setting aside the weapons in his arms with a rather obnoxious clamor.  Maggie wrinkled her nose but found herself aiding him as he lumbered towards the awaiting couch. 

                He didn’t thank her, but that wasn’t much of a shock.

                “Did ye’ finish yer duties?” He inquired after a while, his voice heavy and lethargic while he loosened the many buckles which held his boots together.  The amount of dried mud which fell from the creases in his attire was going to be a pain to sweep up the next day.  Hopefully, he wouldn’t be expecting her to do it that night. 

                “Well, um--…”

                Kruger shot her a cruel glare. “Didja or didntcha? Come on, spet ‘t out.”

                “N-no, sir.” Maggie stammered eventually.

                Kruger sat back against the couch, an indiscernible expression creasing his sun-kissed features.

                “And why’s that, baby?” She hated that stupid pet name, but that’s primarily why he used it.

                Her hands twisting and knotting the rag she’d continued to clutch. “I… didn’t have enough time… I’m… I’m sorry.”

                Maggie couldn’t understand why she’d apologized; the number of chores he’d assigned her would’ve been a full-days work for three people, never mind just one.  He was lucky she’d even gotten as far as she had.

                He leaned forward, reaching his leathery, calloused fingertips to her face before guiding it to face him.  It was as though he were attempting to comfort her, but Maggie knew better.  It would’ve been an easier task to garner sympathy from a rabid dog than Kruger.

                “You know what tha’ means…” He whispered softly as his gaze raked over hers.  Maggie suppressed a whimper, resenting how far she’d deviated from her prior self.  It’d been two days since she’d eaten last and by now the pain of hunger was as prominent and relentless as a bullet-wound in her gut.  She would’ve sooner taken the bullet rather than sleep another night on an empty stomach…

                “Please, don’t sir… I’m so hungry…” She moaned softly, her eyes watering even as she fought to deny their presence.

                Kruger, in reply, combed his fingers through the short sprigs of hair now growing from the top of her head which had once been shaven clean.  He’d obviously ignored the desperate plea, choosing to respond as though she were a mischievous pet in his presence.

                “Baby…--” He murmured gently, as though he were comforting a lover of some kind.

                “I’ll do whatever you want; please, I’m so hungry, I’m begging you!” She blurted out loudly enough to surprise the seemingly invincible ex-soldier sitting before her.

                “Is that so?” His eyebrow arched as he watched her beg and plead.

                His inquiry gave her reason to pause; she had put him in a position to ask for anything he wanted, no matter how depraved.  Would she be willing to pull through for this terrorist?

                Yes.  Absolutely.

                She gave a nod and Kruger rose, beckoning her to follow behind him.

                As had become a ritual of sorts, Kruger sat against the biggest seat in the kitchen area, and Maggie took to the smaller seat which sat nearest the corner. 

                She watched as he produced the day's rations from a pocket of his vest, dumping the contents into the only clean bowl Maggie had been able to get to that afternoon. 

                When the bread-like substance had risen enough, Kruger broke off more than half before handing it to her.  Maggie nearly tore it out of his hand as she gnawed eagerly into it, the sweet relief from hunger feeling like an orgasm against her lower ribs. She couldn’t even repress the moan which fell past her lips. 

                Kruger watched all of this with an air of subtle intrigue, but Maggie wouldn’t notice this for quite some time.

                It took a few minutes of nonstop feasting for Maggie to finish the last remaining bites of the bread.  She’d never been given such a large fraction of his rations before, and it had been enough to fill her completely.  The unfamiliar yet warmly welcomed sensation of being full was enough to cause Maggie to sigh as she fell back against the wall.

                She would’ve remained there if not for the incessant thought tugging at the back of her mind.

                “Thank you, sir…” She breathed in an attempt to sound more than simply relieved that he’d fed her.

                “Don’t thank me just yet, baby girl.” He replied before leaning towards her, resting his forearms over his knees while he watched her for a moment longer.

                Maggie hadn’t had the luxury of almost forgetting the exchange she’d permitted in order to receive the nutrition she more than simply desired.

                “What would you have me do, sir?”

                ‘Sir’ still felt horrible against her lips, but she’d grown quite used to speaking it whenever in Kruger’s presence. 

                “I haven’t figured it out yet, but I’ll let you know soon enough.  For now, get to work on finishing up your chores.  And if this happens again, I won’t be so generous, d’ya hear me?”

                “Yes, sir.” She bowed her head as though speaking to a figure of royalty before darting off into another room to adhere to his request.  How had she gotten so fortunate as to leave the room with any semblance of dignity left? She could’ve danced for joy.

                *****

               

                Hours had gone by before almost everything had been completed.  The kitchen area had been polished near to its former glory as a result of Maggie’s desperation.  Kruger had been watching her to the point of discomfort on her end, but that seemed to spur him on all the more. It was when she’d at long last gotten the metal on his mechanical boots to glimmer in the fluorescent light that he seemed satisfied with her efforts. 

                “Tha’s good, baby-girl…” He praised.  Despite herself, Maggie felt a relieved smile probe her lips as she rose to admire her handiwork.  Sweat encapsulated her cover-alls, but she hardly took notice.  Now it was exhaustion, rather than hunger, which plagued her mind.

                “May I retire, please, sir?” She inquired numbly, barely registering the fact that she’d spoken at all.

                “Not before I tell ye’ what I’ve decided…”

                Maggie’s features became more reserved in an instant, panic seeping into the cracks of her indifference.  What could he possibly ask for?  The possible answer was one amidst thousands.

                “I am allowing you to share the bed with me; it’s gettin’ to be the cold months and I doubt you’ll survive on that shred of cloth you use as a bed.” His voice became uncharacteristically affectionate, which in turn caused Maggie to have a reason for concern.  “Ye’ see, it’ll be beneficial for both of us since we’ll have… err… one another to keep us from dyin’ ah the cold.”

                “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Maggie answered reluctantly, feeling as though several spiders were crawling beneath her skin.

                “Oh, baby, it’s not an option.  I don’t want tah come back one mornin’ ta see ya frozen stiff.  Then what use are you to me?”

                Embarrassment radiated through her before she gave a reluctant nod of agreeance.

                “Come along, then,” Kruger declared before finishing the last of the contents of a bottle he’d been nursing.  Mags didn’t even want to contemplate what might’ve been in that smelly brew.

                As a child would follow their parent, Maggie followed Krueger, fatigue impeding her from following at his ankles.

                Krueger was the first to crawl onto the unkempt bed, the ancient springs of the mattress itself screaming in protest with each fidget he made in an attempt to get comfortable. Maggie watched the display with a neutral stare, only to join him when he argued towards her glare.

                At first, she’d laid against the very edge of the bed, any slight flinch in the wrong direction having the potential of throwing her to the ground, but then Krueger pulled her to him, his hairy, sweaty chest abruptly pressing into her back.  A surprised squeak escaped her lips from the unexpected advance, but she eventually bit her lip and conceded. It was much warmer here than beneath that tiny shred that she’d once called her blanket. Soon, Kruger was asleep, snoring into her hair as she struggled to doze off.  The grip he had around her hips still hadn’t left, but that was the least of her problems at that point.

                Finally, though, after hours of contemplation and staring off into the distance, her body finally succumbed to the relief of slumber, and she dreamed of machines

… and of her father.   

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to comment any ideas you might have as to where this is going


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